But I didn't say what I was going to say.

Why should I tell my uncle I was afraid to go to London alone?
"Where am I to live if I do _get_ the place?
London's such a big place to be in." "Oh, we'll see to that," said my uncle, "in due time.

Time enough for that when you get your place." This was true; and half elated, half alarmed by the prospect before me, I took to my bed and went to sleep.
My dreams that night were a strange mixture of Merrett, Barnacle, and Company, the little girl who fell from the pony, Jack Smith, and the jovial baker; but among them all I slept very soundly, and woke like a giant refreshed the next day.
If only I had been easy in my mind about Jack Smith, I should have been positively cheerful.

But the thought of him, and the fact of his never having called for my letters, sorely perplexed and troubled me.

Had he forgotten all about me, then?
How I had pictured his delight in getting that first letter of mine, when I wrote it surreptitiously in the playground at Stonebridge House a year ago! And I had meant it to be such a jolly comforting letter, too; and after all here it was in my pocket unopened.